Emissary
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: The fate of a teenage boy's missing father is in dispute, and there may be no solution. Follows 'It's Raining Men'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _Something with a twist this time around. If you think this one is unusual, wait till the next one! Don't want to get too far ahead of myself, though…so dive in and let me know what you think.  
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§ § § -- October 14, 2000

"What is _with_ you?" demanded Camille Omamara of a very nervous Myeko Sensei. They stood in the vestibule of a little church on the outskirts of Amberville, waiting for the service to begin. "You better not back out now, after all this effort we made decorating the place and finding you the right dress and even getting Nick's mom out here."

"And especially after I introduced you to Nick in the first place," Leslie put in, "and all the trouble it got me into with Father!"

Myeko narrowed her eyes and shot them both annoyed glares. "You've both gotten married. You know it's bridal nerves. Not only that, but I still haven't actually met Nick's mother! She couldn't get out here till today, and every one of you knows good and well that I was busy this morning with getting dressed and having my hair and makeup done and all that other hooey. What if she thinks I'm not good enough for her son?"

"Seems to me you'd've heard about it by now if that were true," said Myeko's twenty-five-year-old sister, Sayuri, her maid of honor. "Don't you think so, sis?"

Myeko thought about it, shrugged, then frowned again. "She could always change her mind once she gets a good look at me."

Camille, Sayuri, Leslie and Maureen—the third bridesmaid—looked at one another in exasperation. "Maybe I should check and see if the minister's ready yet," Maureen said, "so we can get her married to poor Nick before she totally chickens out."

"How about this," Leslie said, suddenly inspired. "If you don't go down that aisle and marry Nick when it's time, I'll fill your entire house with flies. And believe me, I can do it. I have resources. After you insisted I grant you that fantasy back in July, you can bet Father'll be on my side, and he'll know where to get the flies, too."

Myeko gawked at her while Sayuri began snickering. Maureen and Camille were both wearing wide grins. "Leslie Hamilton, you wouldn't dare," Myeko protested.

"Wanna try me?" Leslie challenged her.

"I'll tell Christian on you," Myeko said weakly.

"Christian'll get a huge laugh out of it," Leslie returned without hesitation. "Yes or no? Are you going down that aisle, or do we have to throw you down it?"

That sent Sayuri into gales of laughter. "You better give up, sis," she chortled. "Camille and Maureen and I'll help Leslie pick you up and give you the heave-ho."

"That's right," said Camille, and Maureen nodded.

Myeko sighed. "Well, I just hope Nick's mom's a good sport, that's all. Why don't you guys find somebody else to pick on."

"Mommy, I'm ready!" called an excited voice, and six-year-old Noelle Tokita skipped out of the hallway beside the entrance, with Junko Sensei behind her. Noelle was the flower girl and was dressed accordingly, down to a flower wreath atop her head and even a daisy stuck in the scrunchy that held her braid together. "I can't wait!" Her bright black eyes filled suddenly with worry. "Mommy, does this mean I still have to go to Daddy's house after you and Daddy Nick get married?"

Myeko cast her surprised mother an equally surprised glance, then said, "Well, it's in the agreement. You and Alexander are supposed to spend one weekend with Daddy every month. Daddy'd miss you if you didn't go."

"No, he wouldn't," said Noelle. "When me and Alexander went there last time, all he did was play with the baby. Mommy, they have _two_ boys now. I'm tired of being the only girl and I don't wanna go there anymore. I'd rather stay and help Daddy Nick take care of all the animals."

Inside the church they heard organ music swell up, and Myeko sighed. "Well, we'll have to talk about that later, Noelle. It's almost time for you to go down the aisle. Where's your basket of flowers?" Myeko was going all out with this wedding; she and all her friends had memories of Toki's insistence on marrying her in Amberville's town hall with only one witness, and she was determined to start off her second marriage in proper fashion. Nick had been in indulgent agreement with her, saying that he intended this to be a once-in-a-lifetime event for him and he too would feel better if it was done right.

Noelle, successfully distracted, turned to Junko. "Gramma, I left my basket in the bathroom!" she exclaimed, wide-eyed.

"Stay there, sweetie, I'll go and get it," Junko promised. She hesitated long enough to cast a quick glance out the door in the gathering dusk and gave a sigh of relief. "Thank heavens, here comes Tadashi finally."

"Good," said Sayuri. "Now we won't have to throw Myeko down the aisle after all."

"What?" said Junko, eyeing her younger daughter with suspicious confusion.

"Just an inside joke, Mrs. Sensei," Leslie said, stifling a giggle. "Quick, get Noelle's basket so we can get started. Myeko's threatening to chicken out simply because she still hasn't met Mrs. Okada and thinks she'll object to the wedding."

Junko groaned. "Oh dear. Wait a minute." She ducked back down the hallway, and Noelle peered at Myeko in bewilderment.

"Mommy, is that Daddy Nick's mommy? She has to like you, or I'm not going to call her Gramma," Noelle announced.

Myeko grinned, looking slightly hysterical. Before she could speak, Tadashi Sensei came in and greeted the girls, chuckling when his granddaughter tugged at his tuxedo jacket and demanded an assessment of how she looked. "You're beautiful, little flower, trust me. What happened to Alexander? He was just behind me…" The boy had been tapped to be the ring bearer, but had shown enormous reluctance to get dressed up for the occasion.

Junko emerged from the hallway with impeccable timing. "I imagine he's looking for someplace to hide," she said, handing Noelle her basket of flower petals.

"I'll go get him," Sayuri said. "I'm last in the procession anyway, so I have a couple extra minutes." She ducked out the door to chase down her nephew.

Maureen sneaked another peek through the interior doors. "I think this is our cue," she said. "It looks like everyone's seated, and the minister's standing up there talking with Nick and the best man. Camille, Leslie, ready?"

"As we'll ever be," said Camille, grinning. "Chin up, Myeko. We'll get Alexander in here with the rings, and get you safely married to Nick, and we'll make sure Mrs. Okada thinks you're the salt of the earth. Just get down the aisle already."

"I'll see to it that you do," Tadashi said, smiling at Myeko. "It would be a crime to leave Nicholas standing at the altar like that."

Myeko sighed. "You're right, Dad, you're right. Well, come on, let's get this thing on the road before I try to weasel out of it yet again." Junko laughed, kissed her daughter's cheek and hurried ahead of the others to take her seat up front. Noelle, looking excited enough to explode, trailed her grandmother at a near skip, enthusiastically littering the aisle with multicolored petals. Camille followed her a moment later at a much more sedate pace; Maureen counted off five seconds and followed. Leslie cast one last anxious glance out the door and was rewarded by the sight of Sayuri and Alexander, the latter bearing a small silver tray covered with a velvet cloth with Nick's and Myeko's wedding rings lying atop it.

"Your role lasts five minutes, Alexander," Sayuri said, "so I think you'll live." Leslie grinned, turned and followed Maureen down the aisle.

Behind Leslie, Tadashi and Myeko came along, daughter's arm in father's, with Sayuri just behind them keeping track of Myeko's long veil. When Tadashi handed Myeko over to Nick, she seemed to relax and gave Nick a blinding smile of relief, almost forgetting to turn over her bouquet to Sayuri. After that, the ceremony progressed smoothly, and fifteen minutes later Dr. and Mrs. Nick Okada burst out of the church followed by their assorted attendants, family and guests.

The bridesmaids and Nick's attendants hung back, letting the wedding guests shower the couple with confetti and flower petals, and Leslie suddenly grew slightly pensive. With Myeko married, she was now the only single one left in their group, and once again had an aching yearning for Christian.

Maureen glanced at her, then looked again and saw her expression. "Missing Christian?" she guessed.

Leslie nodded. "He was hoping to get out here this month or next month to check up on his branch here, but it turns out his nephew Gerhard is getting married in two weeks, and then next month he has to be there for his niece Cecilia's wedding. And you know Arnulf—any excuse to throw more meaningless royal 'duties' at Christian. Actually, he's got roles in both weddings, from what he tells me. Gerhard asked him to be his best man, and Cecilia wants him to give her away since her father's dead. How could he say no?…and how could I resent his being there for them?"

"Are these weddings taking up the entire month, that he can't get out here in between and visit you?" Maureen asked.

"Oh, they're royal weddings. Pomp and circumstance all the way. Every frill and detail there is, they'll use. Christian mailed me a copy of a British magazine article whose sole reason for existence was to describe Cecilia's wedding dress in excruciating detail. Just as an afterthought, it identified the bride, the groom, the bride's mother and late father, the maid of honor, the best man and the man who's giving her away." Leslie rolled her eyes, and Maureen laughed.

"I can't imagine having to live that kind of life. I bet Christian's dying for the day he can quit being a prince and come here and marry you. What about you, though? Couldn't you go and visit him? You've been to Lilla Jordsö only the once, and that was way before you and Christian even met. He'd probably be thrilled to see you."

"I'd go in a heartbeat, but Christian and I talked it over once a long time ago and thought it was better I didn't. It's just too close to home, if you get my drift. It's Arnulf's turf, and ever since Marina read Arnulf the riot act last spring, he's actually cracked down a little more on poor Christian. Myeko said it once—whatever Marina told him evidently went in one ear and out the other. He sent Christian to Australia and New Zealand in the summer, and then in September made him attend some fussy function or other somewhere in eastern Europe as the representative of Lilla Jordsö's royal family, and…"

"I get it, I get it. Holy cow. What the heck does Arnulf have against Christian anyway? I mean, it sounds to me like he hates him."

"I don't know," Leslie said helplessly. "If Arnulf knows, he isn't saying, and Christian has no clue. Maybe it's just that he thinks Christian's not 'princely' enough, or something. I mean, I remember when Christian first came here and Father and I initially found out he was a prince. He said that, being the youngest, he tends to live more of a private life than his siblings, and he was told he had to make his own way. You usually never see royals going out and holding down jobs like regular peons, and that might have helped cement his popularity with the people. Anna-Kristina told me Arnulf and Carl Johan and Anna-Laura—his sister and other brother—are kind of dour and reserved, and seem cool and distant to the people, while Christian is warmer and more open, more reachable. He seems to know how to connect to people. So maybe it's just a case of infantile jealousy."

Maureen shook her head in disbelief. "Geez. Well, maybe he can break away for New Year's, like he did last year."

"Who knows. I bet Arnulf will find some way to keep him busy so he can't," Leslie said gloomily. "Look, why don't we just get to the reception hall so we can change out of these dresses and start the party. Thinking of Christian just makes me want to cry for missing him, and thinking of Arnulf makes me want to commit murder."

Maureen laughed and said, "Well, in that case, before you land in some dank dungeon under Christian's brother's castle, let's get you over there and have some fun."

§ § § -- October 28, 2000

Their first guests that Saturday morning, a newlywed couple, reminded Leslie of Nick and Myeko, still honeymooning in Samoa and taking the opportunity to visit Myeko's brothers while they were there. In this case, though, the husband and wife were in their late fifties and both had grown children—who couldn't stand each other and stood in two separate and very hostile camps. It was the couple's hope to find some way to at least have their respective offspring get along, if not actually like one another. But it was the other fantasy that really got Leslie's attention. "A teenager?" she asked, watching the slim blond boy step out of the seaplane's hatch with a face full of hope.

Roarke smiled. "He's not here alone, Leslie," he said, "but he does have a fantasy. His name is Kyle Satterfield, and he's sixteen years old. Behind him you see his mother, Bonnie, and his twelve-year-old brother, Zachary."

"Where's his dad?" Leslie asked. "I mean, it looks like a family vacation. Mrs. Satterfield must be divorced or widowed."

"No, she isn't divorced…and she's not exactly widowed, at least not officially," Roarke said slowly, watching while the three collected leis and Zachary shrank back in disgust from the kiss on the cheek a native girl tried to give him. "Eric Satterfield vanished five years ago, and since then not a trace has been found of him. As I understand it, he walked outside their home in rural Almeria, Nebraska, one evening to be certain everything was secure for the night, and simply never came back. There was not a single clue of any kind left behind to suggest an explanation for his disappearance." He hesitated, his expression keeping Leslie silent for the moment, and narrowed his eyes slightly with…confusion? skepticism? It was hard to tell. "However," Roarke finally continued, his words measured and deliberate, "Kyle is convinced he knows exactly what happened to his father, and thus his fantasy."

"Which is what?" Leslie prompted when Roarke fell silent.

It took him several long seconds to reply, and when he did, she wasn't sure she had heard him correctly. "He wishes to see a…UFO…and those who occupy it."

"A UFO?" Leslie echoed, mystified. "What's seeing a UFO got to do with Mr. Satterfield's vanishing act?"

"Kyle insists that he saw his father picked up by one," said Roarke simply. And on Leslie's stunned stare, he raised his glass and gave the familiar weekly greeting, his voice warm and welcoming as ever, but something incomprehensible in his dark eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- October 28, 2000

"Mom, I just want to hit the pool," complained Zachary impatiently, already going through the contents of his suitcase in search of his swim trunks. "It's gonna be my last chance till next summer, and I don't care about Kyle's fantasy anyway."

"What, you don't care about getting Dad back?" Kyle demanded incredulously.

Zachary rolled his eyes. "Course I do, stupid. I just don't see any reason I have to be there when you tell Mr. Roarke your goofy flying-saucer story. I've already heard it three hundred times and I don't want to hear it again."

"Look, you little moron—" Kyle began, but their mother emerged from the bedroom just then, frowning wearily.

"Enough, boys," she said, sighing. "Go ahead, Zachary, but for heaven's sake, once you get to the pool, stay there so we can find you later after our appointment with Mr. Roarke." Zachary nodded eagerly, found his trunks and shut himself in the bedroom to change. Bonnie turned to Kyle and smoothed back his hair, making Kyle automatically duck aside to avoid her solicitous touch.

"Knock it off, Mom," he said ritualistically.

Bonnie smiled tiredly. "Son, try not to be disappointed if you get the same reaction from Mr. Roarke that you've gotten from everyone else. You know most people think UFOs are fiction, and that people who claim they've seen one are a little…well…"

"Nuts," Kyle filled in, with the demeanor of one who's heard it all before. "Mom, I don't think Mr. Roarke's gonna react that way. The rumors are always flying about this place—how anything in the world can happen here. So why not a UFO landing, too?"

"I don't think Mr. Roarke can just call one down on command," Bonnie said, aiming for a joking tone but not quite getting there.

Kyle turned to regard his mother. "Mom, don't you miss Dad?" he asked.

Bonnie's face fell and she half turned away from him. "Kyle, believe me, I miss him every single day," she said, quietly but fervently. "Not a day has gone by since he vanished that I haven't wished he'd come back. But each day, I lose a little more hope. Most missing persons don't come back alive after a certain length of time, and it's been five years. I doubt Mr. Roarke's going to have any more answers than the police did, or the private detective, or that group of half-crazed ghostbusters you got in touch with last year."

"The ghostbusters were Zachary's idea," Kyle said. "Wrong group completely. We should've called in some people out of Roswell or something."

Bonnie groaned and let her head fall back. "Kyle…"

The sound of a knock on the door precluded whatever she might have said, and Kyle instantly lost interest in the conversation, sprinting to answer it. He grinned at Roarke and Leslie, his face once more filled with hope. "Hi, Mr. Roarke, Leslie."

"Hello, Kyle," Roarke said, and Leslie smiled at him. Kyle shut the door behind them and trailed them back into the main room, while Roarke and Leslie greeted Bonnie and everyone took seats. Roarke glanced at Bonnie, then Leslie, before focusing on Kyle, who perched on the edge of his chair with an overeager mien about him. "Perhaps," he suggested with gentle humor, "we should simply let Kyle tell his story without further ado."

Kyle grinned sheepishly. "Well, it's just that nobody else has ever believed me," he explained. "I figured, since they never listened to the truth, you were my last and best hope for some kind of help."

Roarke regarded the boy kindly. "I can make no promises, Kyle," he said, "but before I try to draw any conclusions, why don't you tell me exactly what you saw the night your father disappeared."

Kyle opened his mouth, but just then the bedroom door opened and Zachary emerged, wearing fire-engine-red trunks. "Oh, man, time for Kyle's dumb story again," he groaned theatrically. "No offense, Mr. Roarke and Leslie, but I'm outta here."

"Remember what I told you about staying at the pool," Bonnie called after him as he ran for the door.

"Yeah, yeah, Mom," Zachary yelled back and escaped, the door drifting shut in his wake. Bonnie shrugged and gave Roarke and Leslie an apologetic look, which they both acknowledged with amused smiles.

Kyle cleared his throat, and all eyes went to him. "Can I start now, Mr. Roarke?"

"By all means," Roarke said with a nod.

"Okay…" Kyle drew in a deep breath. "It was just before school started. It was one of those really clear nights when you can see practically every star in the galaxy, you know? I had my window open and I was lying in bed, trying to go to sleep, but I had like two days left of summer vacation and I wasn't really happy about going back to school. Anyway, so I was awake, and Mom and Dad were getting ready to hit the sack too. Dad would go out to the end of our driveway every night and close the gate in the fence, and I heard him walk out the door to do that. Mom came back down the hall and checked up on Zachary and me like she always does, and I pretended to be asleep so I wouldn't get the third degree." He cast his mother a glance, and Bonnie smiled slightly, just for a second. Clearly, Roarke and Leslie realized, she'd heard this story before as well.

"So I heard Mom go into hers and Dad's room and shut the door, and I kept my eyes closed…I hoped maybe it would help me get to sleep. A few minutes went by…and then I saw all this red on my eyelids, like you do when you've got your eyes shut while you're lying in the sun. I opened my eyes, and my whole room was filled with this weird light."

"How, precisely, was it 'weird'?" Roarke asked.

Kyle hesitated before he spoke. "Well…it's hard to describe it. I mean, I can see it right now in my memory, but I'm not sure how to tell you what it looked like. I guess the best way to say it was that it was kind of swirly, silver-glittery-like. Kinda like when you shake one of those goofy souvenir water globes and all this white flaky stuff floats around inside." He looked up to gauge Roarke's reaction, and Roarke nodded comprehension. "In a way, it made me think of the special effects on _Star Trek_ when they're beaming somebody up. And see, my whole room looked like that, sparkling off the walls and the ceiling and the floor and all the furniture. It felt like I was right in the middle of it, but when I reached out and tried to touch the glittery stuff, it was all just thin air.

"So I jumped out of bed and ran to the window, and for a second I was almost blinded by this thing. But then I saw it—this great big disk-looking thing. It was maybe the size of half a football field, I guess, and it was kind of hanging overhead maybe a hundred feet off the ground, and all this blue and pink and purple and green and yellow light was blinking on and off on the bottom of it. And there was more of that glittery stuff in the air, all over our front yard, like a blizzard or something." Kyle leaned intensely forward. "And way down by the gate, I saw this…beam of light, like a spotlight, shining down there, and I saw my dad standing right in the middle of it."

"You're sure it was your dad?" Leslie asked.

"He was the only person down there—it couldn't be anybody else. There was a human silhouette right in the middle of this beam of light, plain as anything. And right while I was standing there staring at my dad in the middle of that light, all of a sudden he kind of swooshed up, really fast, and he was just gone. And then the beam of light went out, and the glittery stuff went _poof_ and disappeared, and this disk thing whooshed up into the sky and popped out of sight. And all that happened in maybe five seconds flat."

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other, both expressionless; then Roarke turned back to Kyle and asked, "What did you do then?"

"I didn't do anything right away," Kyle admitted. "At first I was just staring into the sky, trying to see where the disk thing went, but it was gone and all I could see were stars. I thought maybe it'd come back, but it didn't. And that was when Mom came out and caught me out of bed, and she gave me heck for it." He grinned again, and Roarke chuckled in sympathy. "That's when I tried to tell her about the disk and all the light, but she said I must have been having a dream."

"If there was that much light," Leslie said curiously, "why were you the only one who saw it? It should have flooded the whole house, the way you describe it."

Bonnie sighed. "I was in the bathroom in Eric's and my bedroom," she explained with some reluctance, "and there aren't any windows in there. It was built that way on purpose to serve as an emergency tornado shelter in case we can't get to our storm cellar in time. So I never noticed anything."

"You heard nothing?" Roarke questioned.

"There wasn't any sound," Kyle said. "I mean, there was so much light it was like daylight, but the whole time I can remember the crickets chirping like crazy, as if nothing was happening. If I'd been blind, I'd never have known anything was going on. So Mom didn't believe me, being in that bathroom, and Zachary slept through the whole thing, so I was the only person who saw what happened."

"I don't know if he really saw anything or not," Bonnie said, shooting Kyle a quelling glance when he opened his mouth as though to protest. "He's always maintained he did, but I've never been sure it wasn't just a vivid dream. But then Eric never returned from closing the gate, and I decided it was Kyle's way of trying to explain his father's disappearance."

"I told you," Kyle said with a pleading look at Roarke. "Nobody believes me. Nobody's ever believed me. They all say I was dreaming or just making it up. When I told the cops my story, they did go around asking the neighbors questions, but they didn't see anything either." He scowled. "All that light and stuff, and I'm the only one who saw it. No matter who I told, they just humored me. We hired a private detective after the cops gave up…and that guy actually patted me on the head and told Mom I had a great little imagination and might be a terrific sci-fi writer someday."

"I wouldn't have agreed to this trip," Bonnie said with a heavy sigh, "but there was one thing that's stayed with me. Kyle's story has been totally consistent every time he's told it. If he were making it up, the details would have changed. Of course, it's just as likely he's describing his dream as he remembers it—"

"Mom," Kyle exploded, _"I wasn't dreaming!"_

Roarke lifted his hands. "Please, calm yourself, Kyle," he said, and Kyle sagged in his chair, falling back so that he slouched grumpily. "Mrs. Satterfield, what did the police find when they investigated your husband's disappearance?"

"Nothing," Bonnie said a little bitterly. "Not one blessed thing. We hadn't had rain in a long time, so there weren't even footprints to show he'd gone down to the gate. No tire tracks from a vehicle, no signs of a scuffle, no nothing. For all I know, the ground opened up and swallowed him."

"There'd have been a hole," Kyle argued stubbornly. "Or at least the signs of one."

"Kyle, we've been over this so many times, I could recite it in my sleep," Bonnie said wearily. "I'm at the end of my rope with this whole thing. Frankly, Mr. Roarke, I'd just as soon step back and let you deal with Kyle alone—maybe you can make him see reason."

Roarke regarded her for a very long minute, long enough that Bonnie began to look apprehensive. Then he said, very simply, "I believe your son, Mrs. Satterfield."

Bonnie's jaw dropped, and Kyle rocketed out of his slouch, his face alive with relief and excitement. "No way! You really do, Mr. Roarke?"

Roarke smiled and said, "Yes, I really do." He noticed Bonnie's flabbergasted look and said kindly, "The universe contains many strange and inexplicable things that are too often dismissed out of hand. You mentioned, Kyle, that your family had hired a private detective. What other avenues of assistance did you look into? Were you ever visited by anyone from the government?"

"I wouldn't let it get out," Bonnie said, still eyeing Roarke as if she were as unsure of his sanity as of her son's. "I really didn't want a lot of attention coming down on us. The local media might have treated it as a novelty story and there'd have been endless ridicule. I might not believe Kyle's story, but I didn't see the need for him to suffer persecution for what he's convinced he saw. So no, we never heard from government people, no Area 51 or anything like that. The police filed away Eric's case as unsolvable; the private detective took a very unhealthy chunk out of our savings before he decided there was nothing else he could do. He never found anything either. And then Kyle brought in a group of self-described ghostbusters…"

"Mom," Kyle said with the strained patience of one dealing with a fractious toddler, "I told you, that was Zachary's idea, not mine. It wasn't ghosts that took Dad, it was aliens." He met Roarke's amused, quizzical look. "Zachary was being funny. Last year he got hold of a bunch of crackpots who claim they can ferret out ghosts, like in that old movie, you know. They had a great old time banging on pots and pans and lighting candles and incense and reciting weird-sounding nonsense chants, but that's all they did."

"They actually expected us to pay them for their efforts," Bonnie put in, tossing a disgusted glance at the ceiling. "When we found out Zachary had called them, I saw to it that their pay came out of his saved allowance. Up till then he half believed Kyle's story, but since that time he's dismissed it entirely and won't even listen to it anymore."

Roarke and Leslie both chuckled again, and Roarke settled his seated stance, looking thoughtful. Bonnie and Kyle watched him expectantly, and Leslie waited in silence. After a time Roarke focused on Kyle. "So your fantasy is to see an unidentified flying object."

"Well," Kyle admitted a little uncomfortably, "I know that's what I said in my letter, but the truth is, I want to see the one that took Dad. I want that thing to come back here so I can ask those aliens why they took Dad, and why they won't let him come back. I mean, we need him more than they do."

Roarke stared at Kyle, his features expressionless at first before growing gradually doubtful. "Too little is known about these occurrences," he said slowly, as though speaking to himself, "and there is no indication as to whether the various alleged UFO sightings on record are instances of appearances by the same ship, or different ones. If I could possibly call an alien ship here to Fantasy Island—which I must stress to you is unlikely in the extreme, if not altogether impossible—there is no guarantee it would be the one you tell us abducted your father. Do you understand, Kyle?"

"You mean you can't give me my fantasy?" Kyle asked, dismay radiating from him.

"I didn't say that," Roarke said. "In fact, UFO sightings are not unknown on this island, though they are extremely rare. I will do what little I can, but as I told you before, I can make no promises. However difficult you may find it to give, I am afraid I must insist on your patience in the matter."

Kyle let out a long slow breath and gave Roarke an ironic look, asking wryly, "Do I have a choice?"

Roarke's return look was equally wry. "Not much," he said.

Kyle reacted with a mildly startled expression, precipitating quiet laughter from the adults. Roarke cleared his throat slightly and continued, "For the moment there is quite a bit of research I must do, and the best thing you can do now is relax and try to enjoy yourself. Follow your brother's lead and take a swim at the pool, or you can rent a horse or a bicycle, or spend time on the beach. When I have something more to tell you, I'll contact you, or have Leslie do so. All right?"

Kyle nodded, then tensed suddenly. "I almost forgot," he exclaimed. "Please, Mr. Roarke, wait just a minute." He waited long enough for Roarke's nod before jumping to his feet and running into the bedroom.

"What else can we do here?" Bonnie asked.

"We have an amusement park, which I'm sure Kyle and Zachary would both enjoy, and if you're inclined toward that sort of thing, there is a casino. We have as many spectators there as gamblers, so you need not feel as though you must participate. When you and the boys are hungry, you can choose from the pond restaurant or the hotel," Roarke said. "There is room service as well if you don't feel like going out."

On Bonnie's interested nod, Kyle came back with a small photo album which he gave to Roarke. "What's that?" Leslie asked.

Kyle focused on her. "There's not too much in it, but it's kind of a scrapbook. After Dad vanished, I kept all the newspaper articles that came out about it. Most of 'em are from our local paper, but the story got out as far as North Platte and even Lincoln and Omaha, so there's a few from those places too." He stood beside Roarke's chair, watching their enigmatic host slowly page through the collection, skimming the articles. Without comment, he handed the book to Leslie when he was finished.

"It did stir up the reporters for the first few weeks after Eric vanished," Bonnie confessed. "I mean, I guess it couldn't do anything else, especially since he left no trace at all behind. One of those articles even says it was as if Eric Satterfield never existed at all, he disappeared so completely."

Leslie paused on an article that had appeared in the North Platte newspaper. "Uh, excuse me, but Kyle…what's the drawing that's with this article?"

Kyle turned in surprise, got a look at what Leslie was staring at, and nodded. "When the North Platte reporter came out to do a story on Dad's vanishing act, he asked me to draw what I remembered seeing that night." The drawing, which had been printed with the article, showed a representation of what presumably was the interior of Kyle's bedroom, with the suggestions of furniture and a square that Kyle told her was his window. "I'm not really much of an artist, but I did the best I could."

Leslie examined the little dots liberally scattered all over the drawing. "I guess it really did look like a blizzard, from the way you drew it."

Kyle shrugged and said, "Like I said, I can't really draw—and I did that when I was eleven, a few weeks after Dad vanished, so it's even worse because of that. I know it looks like little black spots, but it was really little silvery glittery flake-looking things." He met Leslie's gaze and shrugged again, looking a little helpless. "I wish I could draw…or better yet, I wish I could paint, and then I could have shown what it really looked like, in color."

"That's all right, Kyle," Roarke said. "I have a very good mental image of what you are trying to get across. You've given me some good material to work with, and that's more help than you realize." He arose, which Leslie took as a cue to close the album and hand it back to Kyle before standing up herself. "As I mentioned earlier, when I have something more for you, I'll get in touch with you."

"But Mr. Roarke…what kind of research can you possibly do?" Bonnie asked. "I don't go in much for this UFO stuff, but I know there's not a lot out there, and I'm sure it won't take you very long. And, well…don't take this personally, please, but I have to be totally honest with you. I just don't see how you can fulfill Kyle's fantasy."

"Just leave that to me, Mrs. Satterfield, and enjoy yourself today," Roarke said with a smile. "Let me put it this way: there is more to my brand of research than merely combing through historical archives. Please don't trouble yourself about it, all right?"

Bonnie nodded a little dubiously. "Well, okay, then, we'll leave it in your hands. Thank you for coming out and listening to Kyle's story, both you and Leslie."

"Not at all," said Roarke warmly. "Please excuse us…Leslie?" The two exited, leaving an excited Kyle and a skeptical Bonnie.

"Mom, come on," Kyle insisted. "If anybody can do it, Mr. Roarke can."

"But we don't even _know_ that Mr. Roarke can," Bonnie countered, watching Kyle's face fall as he realized the truth of his mother's words. She went to him and squeezed his shoulder. "I just don't want you pinning all your hopes on maybes when even Mr. Roarke himself said he can't make any promises."

Kyle shrugged and said stubbornly, "Well, I'm choosing to believe. Maybe we better go to the pool and make sure Zachary's still there."


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- October 28, 2000

"That," Roarke remarked out of the blue, "was a revelation." He was standing at the bookshelves, carefully scanning his extensive library, while Leslie was thumbing through the day's mail. She looked up.

"What was?" she asked. "Kyle Satterfield's story?"

Roarke nodded, still examining book spines. "Something about it has been bothering me," he said somewhat absently. "I can't pin it down at the moment, but perhaps if I give it time, it will come to me. What I need to know just now is whether there are any sightings on record that are even remotely similar to his. And oh yes…I nearly forgot. Rogan promised to set aside a supply of Ceylon cinnamon for Mariki. Would you please go to the bed-and-breakfast inn and pick that up for me? We have about two hours before anything else must be done, so I'll research the Satterfield fantasy and you may do as you wish after you've brought the cinnamon back."

"Okay," said Leslie. "I'll probably drop in and say hi to Julie, and see if Rory still recognizes me." Roarke glanced at her long enough to smile acknowledgement, and she got a car key from the gold box on the desk and left.

Julie was in the side yard plucking dead leaves off the arborvitae that snaked up a decorative lattice when Leslie arrived; Rory, almost a year old now, was nearby, sitting on a blanket on the ground, playing with a plastic bucket and shovel. Julie turned at the sound of the car and brightened. "Hi, Leslie! Long time no see. What brings you over?"

"Father said Rogan has some Ceylon cinnamon for Mariki," Leslie said and grinned at Rory. "Hi there, Rory! Having fun?" Rory looked up at her, blinked once and gave her a big grin of recognition, displaying four teeth. "Looks like you are." She and Julie both giggled.

"Rogan's in the greenhouse now," Julie said, "tinkering with some recalcitrant plants. He's been having a hard time with a couple or three of them, but I've never seen anybody so stubborn and so determined to make a plant do what he wants it to. Come to think of it, he's been in there a few hours. Do me a favor and see if you can drag him out before he takes root in a bag of soil."

Leslie laughed. "No promises," she kidded and headed for the greenhouse on Julie's answering grin. She blew out her breath once she stepped into the humid interior and pushed up the sleeves of her dress, glancing around at the abundant plants that created a miniature forest inside. "Rogan, you in here?"

"Leslie, is that you?" she heard from somewhere. "Just come on back."

She skirted a couple of small trees growing in oversized pots and caught a quick hint of a sweet aroma, making her surmise that these must be the source of the cinnamon Rogan cultivated. She had learned that Ceylon cinnamon was considered to be true cinnamon and was surprisingly difficult to come by on the world market; it was superior to the more common brand of cinnamon that most people used, and Mariki now refused to have anything but the Ceylon variety in her kitchen. Rounding the last table crammed with flats of seedlings, she passed through a doorway into a separate section of the greenhouse where Rogan kept the plants he was still experimenting with. He stood halfway down the middle of three tables, examining a wilting plant that bore a multitude of small, oddly-shaped leaves with two prongs that made them resemble rabbit ears. Leslie wandered over and peered at it in curiosity. The leaves grew in pairs, and between each pair was a small round brown growth that looked like a tiny hickory nut. "Is it dying?"

Rogan looked up and rolled his eyes. "Well, it's alive, but it's not feeling very well," he said, sighing. "I've been struggling with this damned plant and its fellows all year. You came for the cinnamon, didn't you?"

Leslie nodded and followed him back into the first section of the greenhouse. "What kind of plant is it?" she asked. "I never saw it before."

"It's a pain in the bum, is what it is," Rogan said testily, making her laugh. "There are times when I think I was insane to specialize in rare herbs and spices. On the other hand, business is thriving, so I suppose the occasional troublemaker is worth the effort. I'll just have to keep trying. Here you are." He gave Leslie two spice jars. "Twelve dollars."

Leslie handed him the money and thanked him, then paused. "Why don't you take a break?" she suggested. "It's much less humid outside, and Julie said I should get you out of here before you sank roots into some of your dirt."

Rogan laughed. "Maybe I'd better, at that. I've been in here all morning anyway. Though I like the humidity, actually."

"Ugh," said Leslie, making a face. "You must be crazy." Rogan just grinned at her, and they fell into casual conversation as they strolled across the yard towards Julie and Rory. Rory squalled happily at sight of his father and stretched out his arms to be picked up. Leslie stayed awhile, talking with Rogan and Julie, then made her farewells and drove into town to pick up a videotape. The wedding of young Prince Gerhard of Lilla Jordsö, aged 29, was to take place at exactly noon—midnight Fantasy Island time—and would be televised around the world. Leslie wanted to videotape Christian's appearance and planned to do the same the next month when he gave away Princess Cecilia at her wedding.

In the shop where she bought her blank tape, she was surprised to see Tabitha, visibly pregnant with hers and Fernando's second child, squinting critically at movies for rent. "Well, you look fat and happy," Leslie teased her.

Tabitha turned around and laughed. "Oh, hi, Leslie. I could be a little happier at the moment. They don't have the movie I wanted to rent. What brings you over here? I'd have thought you'd be in the thick of another busy weekend."

"Not so busy at the moment," Leslie said. "I'm just getting a tape so I can record Christian in his nephew's wedding tonight."

"Oh, that's right," Tabitha said. "Now which nephew is this?"

"Gerhard," Leslie said, "the older son of Christian's brother Carl Johan. What amazes me is that he's marrying a member of the Liljefors clan. I guess they've really come out of their shell." Tabitha's eyes widened; all Leslie's friends knew full well the story of Frida Rosseby and how she'd found her birth family. Christian had e-mailed Leslie some months before and confessed, with a certain amount of shame, to having had some trepidation about his nephew's intended before meeting her and finding that she had impeccable control over the notorious Liljefors powers. For the world at large, the clan was presented merely as a prominent _jordisk_ family, with no hint of the previous notoriety that had plagued them for so many years.

"That's really impressive," Tabitha said. "I might sit up and watch the wedding myself. Fernando will probably kill me if I do, but ever since I found out I was pregnant, I've had the most peculiar sleeping habits. I catnap all day long and then find myself awake most of the night. It's driving me as insane as it is Fernando."

Leslie laughed. "I hope it's not putting too much of a strain on your marriage."

"I'm only five months pregnant," Tabitha said, "so I'm not sure how this is all going to end up." She made a playful face and they both laughed. "There's something I've been wondering about for a while now. You never used to hear of any royals but the British ones, for the most part…and the Japanese ones, being here in the Pacific as we are. But this year, Lilla Jordsö is suddenly all over the news, and we hear as much about their royal family as the other two. Why is that? Do you suppose it's because of Christian's awful arranged marriage, and the way the truth about it came out over the summer?"

"It could be," Leslie said, shrugging a little uneasily. "Tabitha, have you read any of the stories about it?"

"Most of them," she said. "Don't look so worried, Leslie. Your name's never been mentioned in any of them. I mean, it's been made clear that both Christian and Marina are in love with people other than each other, but your identity and Marina's boyfriend's are a huge secret. It seems Christian's been very careful to protect you."

Leslie nodded, relaxing. "He was afraid I'd never get the tabloid hounds off my back if my name got out—he himself has been chased by them for the last several months, and never had a chance to read what they were writing. I told him I'd read enough of them to realize that I'm still his secret…and the island's, too." She grinned, and Tabitha giggled. "He was so relieved. He still won't agree to any interviews, though, at least not about the subject of his marriage, because he knows they'll go straight to the question of who he's really in love with. And he refuses to drag me into this mess. My life's still peaceful, and he's hoping we can keep it that way. Maybe someday the media'll finally lose interest in trying to figure out who Christian's girlfriend and Marina's boyfriend are."

Tabitha nodded. "Well, don't worry, Leslie. You know none of us will spill the beans, and I think the whole island feels that way. And even if someone does let the cat out of the bag, you know we're all behind you, and I have no doubt Mr. Roarke will be right there protecting you. And he's not someone to mess around with. He has too much power and far too much support from everyone on this island."

Leslie nodded. "It helps to know that," she said and suddenly smiled wryly, "but now I'm afraid to step foot off Fantasy Island."

"Coward," Tabitha kidded, and they laughed. "Well, I suppose I'd better let you go before you get in trouble with Mr. Roarke. I'll probably be awake to tune in to the wedding; I love royal weddings, so if I have to, I'll have some coffee with supper." She grinned. "See you later, Leslie."

"I hope you find the movie you want," Leslie said and waved at her before going to the front counter, buying her tape and leaving the shop. On a sudden whim, she detoured to the bookstore, which carried magazines and newspapers from some thirty different countries, and curiously perused the various titles and headlines. When she spotted the current issue of the USA's "People" magazine, she lifted it out of the rack and squinted at the small photo of Christian and Marina in the upper right corner of the front cover. Beneath it was the succinct and cryptic caption, "Marriage Trap—Why?" In the picture, Christian and Marina appeared to be attending some state function or another; they were both dressed in formal clothing and neither was smiling. There was several inches of space between the two.

The phrase "marriage trap" caught Leslie's eye again and she felt a fluttering in her stomach. "People" reporters were pretty thorough in their investigations, and the magazine was several cuts above a tabloid. She made a decision and bought it before returning to the main house and retreating to the TV room, where she laid the videotape atop the VCR to be sure it was where she needed it to be later and settled onto the sofa with the magazine.

‡ ‡ ‡

Kyle was reluctantly applying sunscreen to his pale skin, wishing he could skip it and try to get at least a little tan, when a shadow fell over him and he looked up, squinting. "You can't be from around here," said the teenaged girl who stood over him.

Kyle stared at her, interest piqued; she was quite pretty and decidedly exotic-looking to him, with her black hair, dusky skin and wide dark eyes. It was plain she was of Polynesian extract, and he supposed she was a born-and-bred islander. "No, I'm just visiting," he admitted a little reluctantly. "My name's Kyle Satterfield."

"Hi, Kyle. I'm Kahoku," she said. "Where do you come from?"

"Nebraska, in the States," Kyle told her. "I guess you're a native."

Kahoku nodded, eyes sparkling. "How did you know?" she teased, and they both laughed. She started to crouch on his towel beside him, but a voice called her name and she turned around. "Over here," she yelled and waved at someone.

A moment later Kyle found himself surrounded by about half a dozen other teens, some clearly islanders, some not. "Everyone, this is Kyle Satterfield from the US. Kyle, this is Liko, Carlos Escontrias from Mexico, Narumi Omori from Japan, and Gavin and Rhian Llewellyn from Wales," said Kahoku in a rush. Kyle missed all but the last one: Rhian Llewellyn was cute in a pixielike way, with a small heart-shaped face, soft, wispy blonde hair and a shy smile.

"Hi," said Kyle a little uncertainly, sweeping a glance around the group.

"Hi, Kyle," said the native boy, Liko, eyeing his bottle of sunscreen and his pale skin. "I guess it's not very warm in your part of the US right now."

"It's not very warm in Wales, either," said Gavin Llewellyn with a raised eyebrow, and stuck out a hand at Kyle. "Never met an American before. You here on holiday?"

"No, vacation," Kyle said, and Gavin grinned tolerantly while Rhian giggled and the others looked at one another oddly.

"Same thing," Gavin said easily. "We're in room 349 at the hotel…you?"

"Oh, we're in one of the bungalows," Kyle said, searching his brain but coming up short. "Forgot the name of it though."

This little revelation got the others' attention. "Then you're not here merely on holiday, you've a fantasy," said Rhian excitedly. "What is it?"

Burned too many times by people laughing at his story, Kyle made a dismissive face and shook his head. "Nothing big really. It's just…my dad disappeared five years ago, and we were hoping Mr. Roarke could help get him back, that's all."

"That is sad," said Narumi Omori, the Japanese girl. She looked studious, with pin-straight jet-black hair and a serious, intelligent air about her. When Kyle met her gaze, though, she offered a small, cautiously friendly smile. "I hope he can help you."

Kahoku nodded. "If anyone can do it, it's Mr. Roarke," she said confidently.

"Are you here on vacation…holiday, too?" Kyle asked, directing his question at the Llewellyns, Narumi and Carlos. They all nodded and settled down around Kyle, the ice broken enough now that conversation began to flow. Kyle didn't notice his mother pass by, eyeing him and his new friends with surprise and wonder.

After a good half hour of chatting, Carlos inquired of Kyle, "So how did your father disappear, exactly?"

Kyle hesitated again, and the others watched him. "Is it a secret?" asked Kahoku.

"Well, no, but it's…kind of unusual," Kyle hedged.

"This is Fantasy Island," Kahoku said with a comically mysterious air about her. "Everybody knows that unusual things happen here. Tell us."

Kyle looked around the group, wary, taking in their interested, curious faces, weighing Kahoku's words. Mr. Roarke had believed him…but then again, that was Mr. Roarke, who probably accepted every crazy story he ever heard as unassailable fact. Just because the natives here seemed to realize that this island was well-known for strange occurrences didn't mean they were going to simply swallow everything they heard. He let out the breath he'd more or less been holding and shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me," he muttered in resignation. "Nobody ever believes me."

"You don't know till you tell us," Rhian coaxed.

Kyle focused on her. "Look, the only one who ever believed my story was Mr. Roarke, and he's paid to do that," he said cynically. "You're not, so what's to stop you from scoffing at me, like the cops did when my dad first vanished?"

The others were silent, glancing at one another. "Perhaps it's difficult for him to talk about," Narumi offered.

"It is when no one believes you," Kyle said.

"If we promise to keep open minds, will you tell us?" Rhian persisted.

Gavin frowned. "Rhian, you always were too nosy for your own good. Why don't you let him be? You can't make him talk."

Liko spoke up, "It's really true, sometimes we see strange things around here. A lot of the old people here are really superstitious, and even shooting stars spook them. A story went around back in the 80s that a UFO had landed here once, and that Mr. Roarke saw it, but he never talked about it and only the old people believed it anyway." He stopped, seeing Kyle's intense stare. "What?"

"A UFO landed here once?" Kyle demanded. "Did it really?"

Liko shrugged and laughed. "It was just a story," he said. "Like I said, Mr. Roarke wouldn't confirm or deny that it happened. So the old people thought it did, and everybody else thought it was just silly stories."

"Don't you think anyone would have investigated it?" Rhian asked excitedly. "Who's to say a UFO really didn't land here? Especially a place like this? I should think it would happen here more readily than anywhere else on earth." She noticed that Kyle's stare had shifted to her and added, "I've always been interested in UFOs. I can't believe that we're the only living beings in the whole universe. The cosmos is far too vast for that to be possible, and not only that, it's unbelievably egotistical."

_Maybe she'd believe me,_ Kyle thought, and drew in a breath. "So you think there's something to all the sightings that've been reported?"

Rhian nodded. "Sure, why not?"

Kyle shot a guarded look around the group again; Narumi, Carlos and Liko looked openly skeptical, while Gavin and Kahoku seemed merely curious. Rhian's face was bright with excitement. "Well," Kyle finally said, "I know none of you are going to buy this, but…my dad disappeared because a UFO picked him up. I saw it happen."

Rhian gasped. "Tell me!" she begged, eyes alight. "What did it look like?"

"No way," muttered Liko and got up. "Just because this is Fantasy Island, we get all the nuts. I gotta get back home." He got up and left; Carlos and Narumi took this as a cue to follow, and Kahoku giggled.

"Did you see little green aliens?" she asked.

"I told you nobody would believe it," Kyle snapped, disgusted. "I don't even know why I bother telling anybody anymore." He got up and tugged at his towel, making Gavin, Kahoku and Rhian quickly twist off it, then grabbed it up and stalked out of the pool area. What had ever made him think—

"Kyle, Kyle, wait!" cried someone from behind him, and he turned at the start of the footpath to see Rhian running in his direction. "Kyle, where are you going? I believe you. I really want to hear about it, how it all happened, what it looked and sounded like."

Gavin Llewellyn materialized out of the crowd in her wake. "You can tell her, Kyle," he said good-naturedly. "My sister here is so into the whole flying-saucer thing that she's willing to take anything as gospel truth. And you can talk in front of me, too—I believe in keeping an open mind."

Kyle regarded them with narrowed eyes, but Rhian was clearly very excited by his revelation, and Gavin seemed easygoing and accepting. "Well, all right…I gotta get back to our bungalow anyway, so maybe I could tell you on the way there."

"Please do," Rhian begged hopefully. "It sounds marvelous. I've always wished I could see a UFO, but they never seem to land around Cardiff. I think you're incredibly lucky."

Kyle gave her a very odd look, but there was hope in him all the same. This wispy Welsh girl seemed too good to be true. Was she going to wind up being part of his fantasy? He decided to worry about it later: the temptation to tell her everything he'd seen that night, just so he could see a reaction other than skepticism, was just too overwhelming. He took a deep breath and began, "Well, it was just before I had to go back to school, and the night was so clear you could see every star they've ever named…"


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- October 28, 2000

Spooked by the magazine article, Leslie came down for supper in something of a trance, her mind going over and over what she had read. Roarke, already at the table, took in her preoccupied mien and frowned slightly. "Are you all right?" he asked.

She snapped back into the present and shrugged. "I don't know," she admitted baldly, taking her usual chair. "Somebody's being too thorough about prying into things that aren't any of their business."

"What, exactly, do you mean by that?" Roarke asked.

"I picked up the current issue of 'People' magazine in town," she explained, "when I went to pick up a videotape for tonight. There's an article in it that discusses Christian and Marina's marriage." She paused, thought over her last sentence and made a face. "Well, maybe _discusses_ is too mild a word. _Dissects_ might be a better choice."

"Oh? Why don't you tell me," Roarke suggested kindly.

Leslie sighed gently and smiled at him in gratitude. "I knew something was fishy when I saw the cover. There's a picture of Christian and Marina in the corner, and the caption says, 'Marriage Trap—Why?' Those first two words gave me a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. The article takes up three pages, partly because of photos." Her eyes misted over for a moment and she smiled again. "There are several of Christian long before I knew him. One is of him as a little boy, when his father was crowned king of Lilla Jordsö back in 1962—he was only four then. There's another of his wedding to Johanna, his first wife from Norway who was killed, and a couple others too. Father, he was gorgeous!"

Roarke grinned at her dreamy-eyed, smitten expression. "I have little doubt of that; he is a very handsome young man. So, go on."

Reluctantly Leslie forced herself back to the subject at hand. "Well, the article starts out by explaining who Christian is in relation to the king, what he does and so forth, just general vital stats. Then it summarizes his marriage to Marina in 1996 and says that it's strange there were no photos—it's as if it were done in secret. Then it goes on for several paragraphs, about how the reason for it is what Marina told Arnulf last spring about her and Christian being in love with others before he and the count threw them together, and says the source was an anonymous castle servant who's since left his job. I remember Christian e-mailing me just after he went home and telling me about it, and I thought Marina had a lot of guts to stand up to Arnulf the way she did. But I guess we should've known it wasn't going to do much good, even coming from her. If anything, Arnulf's clamped down on Christian even harder.

"Anyway, the article focuses primarily on the core reason for the marriage. Whoever spilled the beans must either have been in a real talking mood, or been paid a small fortune to cough up what he knew. The article explains in meticulous detail about the marriage-for-amakarna contract. There's even a sidebar explaining what little is known about amakarna and postulating on its origins."

Roarke slowly settled back in his chair, resting an elbow on one arm and absently rubbing his chin with his forefinger, his dark eyes thoughtful. "And what of the fact that Christian and Marina are in love with others? What does the article make of that?"

Leslie shrugged and said, "Couple of paragraphs or so—one devoted to wondering who Marina's boyfriend is and saying he lives in Italy. The other one is longer…not only do they not know the identity of Christian's girlfriend, they have no clue where she lives or anything else, and speculate like nobody's business." She grinned with a sort of wry triumph. "It refers to me as 'Prince Christian's mystery woman'."

Roarke laughed aloud. "Indeed! I don't know what Marina's attitude is toward revealing her boyfriend's identity, but it's very clear to me that Christian is being extremely careful to protect you from the relentless eyes of the press." He smiled appreciatively. "I must remember to thank him for that."

"I was just thinking, though," Leslie said, meeting her father's gaze with her own troubled one. "Sometimes I used to read that magazine at my friends' houses, and I've seen enough of the kind of work they do to know that their reporters investigate everything they possibly can. It's not pure fiction like the tabloid rags—they really try to get both sides of every story and present all the facts they can. They can be relentless, and I'm afraid they might go on digging. And the more they dig, the better their chances of learning more than we want them to know."

"They will have to go through Christian, ultimately, for at this time he is their sole source, and they know of no other. You've mentioned before that Christian has been quite adept at evading them; and it seems to me that even if one or another of them eventually does pin him down for an interview, he will refuse under any circumstances to divulge your identity. Leslie, Christian is a prince, and therefore a public figure—and has been so his entire life. He is undoubtedly accustomed to handling journalists, and they can push him only as far as he is willing to let them go. They can never learn anything he won't tell them. If your name does get out, it won't be via Christian."

"I know that. But that doesn't mean someone else won't tell. Marina and Anna-Kristina both know who I am, at least, and I know they won't tell; but I'm not sure about the rest of his family. And I don't know who Christian might be in regular contact with, friends or work colleagues or whatever, whom he might have told, thinking he could trust them."

Roarke studied her for a few moments before replying. "That, I am afraid I can't tell you, my child. You'll have to ask Christian about it. When was the last time you heard from him? I realize he may not have time to contact you today, since after all he does have a major role in his nephew's wedding. But have you checked?"

Leslie shook her head, surprised. "Actually, no…I didn't think to do that. I probably shouldn't expect to hear from him, but I guess you never know. I'll look after we're finished out here." She regarded her half-emptied plate. "I've got butterflies in my stomach. I haven't seen him since the end of March, and I've spoken with him just once over the phone in July… and I'm dying, Father. I can't wait to just _see_ him, even if it _is_ only on TV."

Roarke smiled sympathetically. "If you wish, you may be excused now, sweetheart. There's no need for you to be on duty this evening unless you prefer to be; so you are free to do as you will. And Leslie…try to hold on. If you allow yourself to slip into self-pity too often, it will become an extremely difficult habit to break. I know you miss Christian very badly, but you must realize he is in the same quandary, and just as you must do, he is keeping himself busy to help the time pass."

"I know," she said softly, "but it won't stop me wishing I could be at his side tonight at that wedding." She pushed her chair back and smiled faintly at him. "Thanks, Father." He watched her rise and cross the veranda, head down.

Inside the study she signed into her e-mail account and hopefully scanned the new messages; to her delight, Christian had managed to contact her after all. She clicked on the message and read it eagerly.

_Leslie, my darling,_

_I wanted to send you something before I leave home today and find myself too busy to write to you. I hate to have to tell you this, but I won't be able to come to Fantasy Island before the end of the winter at least. At the moment I am caught up in Gerhard's wedding; then next month, everything will revolve around Cecilia's wedding, and that will be even worse, for my sister is annoyingly fussy and determined that everything will be perfect for her daughter. Since I am standing in place of Anna-Laura's late husband, I'll be right in the thick of all the plans she's made for that girl. In all honesty, I'll be happy to see Cecilia married off. I understand from Anna-Kristina that she moons around the castle all the time, counting down the days until she's married and driving everyone insane with her meticulous plans. She certainly takes after her mother._

_December is always hectic for us, too. We go all out for Christmas, and it's the one time of year I am fully happy to be with family. Since my parents' deaths, we cherish that all the more. My only wish, as always, is that you were in the circle. How I miss you, my Leslie Rose. Now especially, while I watch a nephew and a niece wed the ones they love and am forced to endure being apart from you._

_If you watch the wedding on television, I promise to find some way to send you a private little greeting. I love you so much, my darling._

_All my love, Christian_

Leslie sat there, furiously and silently fighting the tears that had started to well up at the news that Christian couldn't get away. She wanted to rail and rage against the situation, but in her heart she knew it wouldn't make any difference nor effect any changes. She hoped Christian might still be at home to see the reply she was about to send; it was not yet seven in the morning in Lilla Jordsö.

_Hi, my love..._

_I hope you get to see this before you leave for the wedding. I'll definitely be watching, I promise you that. I'm already nearly sick with anticipation of seeing you. In fact, I'm going to videotape the wedding, just so I can play it again and again when I need to see you. Am I nuts, do you think? Or maybe I just love you too much:)_

_I read an article today in an American magazine, a reasonably reputable one, that analyzes the living daylights out of yours and Marina's marriage and the reasons for it. Someone did a very thorough investigation, even without the benefit of interviewing either you or Marina. Father was very impressed that they had less information on me than on Marina's boyfriend, and mentioned that he should thank you for taking such care to keep my identity a secret. But there's always a chance that they might find someone who knows who I am, and won't have a problem selling that information to some reporter. I told Father that I know Marina and Anna-Kristina know, but I wasn't sure about anyone else. Does anyone else know?_

_The writer of the piece also wanted to know why it was so important to keep my name and Marina's boyfriend's name under wraps. All I could think is that maybe Arnulf and the count would take steps to separate us totally and permanently, if they found out and hadn't already known. Dear God, perish the thought._

_I wish so much that I could be at that wedding with you. I love you, Christian, so much it hurts sometimes._

_Love always, Leslie_

She sent the message and logged off, then beat a fast retreat upstairs so that she could cry in private. She wanted it out of her system in order to enjoy the wedding and keep her eye out for Christian.


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- October 29, 2000

In the thick of the night, Roarke dreamed. It wasn't especially often that he did so, and rarer still that he dreamed vividly enough to remember the details after awakening. He had made the rounds at the luau and barely managed to halt a showdown between the children of their newlywed guests, and had found himself so discouraged and disappointed in their attitudes that it had been necessary for him to leave them before his temper got out of his control. He'd then come back to the main house and tried to get some more information for the Satterfield fantasy, with no success. His frustration had drained him and he had gone to bed relatively early, before Leslie had shut herself into the TV room to wait for Christian to appear on television.

And now, Roarke dreamed. They were strange, disjointed images, flashing across his mind's eye like old photographs, a mental slideshow without a theme. Multicolored lights…silhouetted figures, arms outstretched…someone holding him forcibly back, when he wanted only to run… And then came the sounds: cries of protest, a shout of reassurance, his own voice calling a name he himself couldn't decipher, another fiercely telling him to stay where he was, and himself again: _"¡No! ¿Adónde va usted?" No! Where are you going?_

His own dream cry brought him awake all of a sudden, and with intense clarity he remembered asking the question, untold ages past. But of whom? Whose was the name he couldn't quite make out? Roarke stared wide-eyed into the dark, straining to remember, watching the remains of the dream dance out of reach until all he could recall was the last question he had asked. _¿Adónde va usted?_

‡ ‡ ‡

Leslie found the right channel, inserted the tape into the VCR and started recording, settling herself comfortably onto the sofa. Dressed for bed, she pulled an old quilt off the back of the sofa and covered her lap with it, making sure to tuck it around her feet, which always got cold no matter how warm the night.

This particular broadcast, out of Hawaii, originated from one of the major American television networks, which had sent the hostess of its most popular celebrity-news program to cover the wedding. The opening ten minutes or so turned out to be an overview of Lilla Jordsö itself, presented in travelogue form, before zeroing in on the huge, gloomy-looking castle that housed the royal family. It was the first time Leslie had ever seen it, and she made a face. Little wonder Christian preferred his own apartment.

"This," said the commentator, "is the home of King Arnulf and nearly all the members of the royal family, including the groom, Prince Gerhard, and his bride-to-be, Liselotta Liljefors. Here we can already see the wedding procession being driven down this beautiful coastal roadway to the church…" Leslie half tuned out the voice, studying the landscape with curiosity. The picture on the screen was being shot from a helicopter that slowly circled over the string of black limousines on the road. Leslie caught glimpses of the skyline of the capital, Sundborg, in the near distance from time to time.

At last the scene shifted to a ground camera just outside the church, where the first of the limos was pulling up. "Here are King Arnulf and Queen Kristina…their daughters, Anna-Kristina, Gabriella with her husband, and Margareta…now the second car, with Prince Carl Johan, Princess Amalia, and their son Prince Rudolf—parents and younger brother of the groom…and here is the third car, with Princess Anna-Laura, her son Prince Roald, and her daughter Princess Cecilia—who, incidentally, will be celebrating her own wedding next month. And now the fourth car…" Leslie sat up and leaned forward, her eyes wide, and lit up the moment the door opened and a tall slender figure emerged. "…with Prince Christian, who is the best man for the groom today. It looks as if he's arrived without Princess Marina. What do you think, Bob?"

A male voice said speculatively, "Chances are she's in Italy. Lately it's been observed that Prince Christian and his wife spend more time apart than together, and recently the king has been dispatching Christian on assorted promotional trips for Lilla Jordsö—the last one was to Australia and New Zealand last summer. Christian is actually very secretive about his marriage and his private life in general—it's very hard, if not impossible, to get an interview with him. Once the wedding is over, the king will say a few words, and we may get comments from Christian at that time. Oh, here comes the car carrying the groom."

Throughout this narrative Leslie avidly watched Christian coming up the walk towards the church steps, smiling at some of the spectators and even waving. But she could see that there was little real warmth in his movements, and she remembered her talk with Anna-Kristina nearly a year before. The "happy prince" was clearly putting on a masquerade for his people, and Leslie's heart ached—more so when Christian disappeared from the screen and the camera turned to the limo bearing Prince Gerhard.

She slowly relaxed while more cars came in bearing prominent guests from other countries, mostly in Europe; Canada had sent a representative, and the American ambassador to Lilla Jordsö was also in attendance. Leslie would have preferred to pause the VCR, but she had no idea when Christian would appear next, and she wanted to be sure she got every moment of his screen time on her tape.

Eventually, when the guests dwindled to lesser-known types such as governmental officials and minor celebrities famous only in Europe, the broadcast shifted perspective again and Leslie found herself looking at the interior of the church. By now there were so many people there that it was hard to pick out faces, particularly as the camera angle was from well above the throngs. She managed to locate the altar, but before she could try to decide which of the little figures down there was Christian, the picture faded from this angle to one that looked down the aisle from about five yards behind the point where the minister would stand to marry Prince Gerhard and Liselotta Liljefors. Leslie smiled at the alliteration of the name and wondered idly how closely she was related to Frida.

The camera panned slightly to the left and brought two formally-dressed figures into plain view, and again Leslie sat up in excitement with a little gasp. There stood Christian, chatting with Gerhard! He was in profile to the camera, involved in animated conversation with his nephew; Leslie grinned when Gerhard burst into laughter at something Christian said. _Look this way, Christian, please,_ she thought fervently, her eyes riveted on his face, his infectious grin, his shining chestnut-colored hair. She knew that, of course, he couldn't see her, but she still wanted him to turn to the camera: it would _seem_ as though he were looking at her, at least. Christian spoke again, glancing overhead and pointing at something on the ceiling—_probably the TV cameras up there, _she speculated. Gerhard turned to look at whatever Christian was pointing out, and just then the picture changed yet again, picking out the king and queen and then Carl Johan and Anna-Laura.

Leslie had yet to meet any of Christian's siblings, and she studied them curiously, looking for some resemblance to their youngest brother. She saw it mostly in superficial details such as eye color and face shape. Arnulf and Kristina were more gray now than brown, and Carl Johan was beginning to show some gray at the temples and the forehead. Anna-Laura, five years Christian's senior, looked older than Arnulf in some ways. Though her hair was still glossy brown like Christian's, her face bore the careworn lines of a woman who had raised her children alone for many years. Leslie wondered what she and Carl Johan thought of their brother's enforced marriage, if they knew or cared that he wasn't in love with his wife… She made a face and pushed away that train of thought.

The female announcer grew excited then: "And there's the wedding march! The bride should be on her way down the aisle any second now. Liselotta Liljefors is a member of a very old and well-known Lilla Jordsö family…" The scene changed again and a camera zoomed in on the entrance, waiting for the bride to enter, while the announcer prattled on and Leslie wished again that she could be there with Christian. Fortunately, in less than a minute the doors opened and two bridesmaids, obviously also of the Liljefors clan, preceded the bride inside the church and down the aisle. Leslie smiled at the radiant face of the girl who glided down the aisle in the most voluminous and ornate wedding gown Leslie thought she had ever seen. _I bet Christian would kill me if I married him in something like that,_ she thought merrily and settled back again, waiting for the bride to reach the groom. For all the pomp and ceremony being exhibited here, things moved smartly along; undoubtedly everybody was on a schedule. Leslie rolled her eyes good-naturedly at the thought.

The female announcer had been rhapsodizing in excruciating detail about the wedding gown; Leslie tuned her out again, picking out Christian beside his nephew as the bride came to a halt next to Gerhard. Liselotta's progress down the aisle had been monitored from a ceiling-mounted camera to the bride's left; once the wedding couple were standing beside each other, the angle reverted to the camera mounted behind the altar, which almost immediately began to move off to the right: the minister was blocking the view of the groom, and that would just never do. Leslie suddenly realized who might be blocked instead and held her breath while the angle shifted. She gave a long sigh of relief when the camera moved far enough to permit Christian to be seen, a foot or so away from Gerhard at the latter's right. Eyes riveted on Christian, she propped her chin on her fist, resting her elbow on the throw pillow under her left arm, and smiled dreamily.

The ceremony, it turned out, was being conducted in _jordisk-svenska_, necessitating verbal translation of the proceedings. This had the added bonus of shutting up the two commentators, which suited Leslie just fine. Very gradually, the camera closed in on the wedding party until four humans filled the frame: the minister, Gerhard and Liselotta in the foreground, and Christian in clear view just behind, standing in the space between the minister and Gerhard. Leslie could see him perfectly, and she feasted her eyes.

Then she sat up when Christian looked up, right into the camera. He didn't move his head or any other part of his body; his gaze simply transferred itself from Gerhard and Liselotta to the camera lens Just for a second he maintained that eye contact with the television audience and quirked a small, wry-looking smile. Then his face became serious and still again, and his attention returned to the bride and groom.

After the ceremony a series of advertisements began, and Leslie paused the recording, wondering whether to rewind the tape and try to decipher that cryptic smile, but she resisted. She didn't want to miss any footage of him at the reception. While she was ruminating, the door eased open and Roarke stepped inside. "Have you seen Christian yet?"

She smiled at him. "Yep…I got to stare at him for quite a while, through most of the marriage ceremony. Once he looked at the camera and gave this funny little smile, but that was it. I ought to ask him what that was all about, later."

"I see," said Roarke, glancing distractedly at the TV screen where another ad was blasting its product.

"Are you okay?" Leslie asked, only then realizing he had apparently been awakened. "I hope nothing's wrong."

"Merely a strange dream," Roarke said, his gaze drifting out of focus. "There is no question in my mind that it's connected in some way with the Satterfield fantasy, but the memory it was based on remains out of my reach at the moment. Oh—quickly, Leslie, the advertisements have ended." Leslie seized the remote from the sofa cushion where it had fallen and started the tape going again.

"What was the dream about?" she asked, glancing back and forth between Roarke and the television set.

Roarke didn't answer immediately, frowning slightly. "Most of it has faded away now," he said. "But I seem to recall being quite young in that dream, and all I can remember hearing is my own voice, asking a question—'where are you going?' I am sure it drew on a memory, but one that so far has eluded me."

"Maybe it'll come back to you later on," Leslie suggested. "Sometimes that happens to me. I hope it does, especially if it's important to that fantasy."

"I believe it is," Roarke said. "Well, try not to stay up too late, child, all right? I'd better try to get some more sleep."

Leslie smiled at him. "Good night, Father," she said, and he smiled back and left the room, pulling the door closed behind him. She returned her attention to the wedding reception, catching the odd glimpse of Christian here and there for the next half hour and finding herself alarmingly jealous on the two occasions the camera showed him dancing. She relaxed when she recognized Anna-Kristina the first time, but the second dance was with some woman she had never seen, and she stuck out her tongue at her. _Hey, you, that's my space you're occupying. Christian, my love, I hope you're not enjoying yourself too much with her._ Then Leslie shook her head and grinned ruefully to herself_. Get over it, Leslie Susan, it's only one lousy dance._ But she still wished she were the one in Christian's arms.

The final part of the broadcast was just outside the church, shortly after Gerhard and Liselotta had departed for their honeymoon and the guests were milling around or trying to find the limos in which they had arrived. Arnulf was scheduled to make some remarks, and Leslie watched as the royal family gathered behind the podium set up for the purpose. As the time drew near, the four Enstad siblings stepped up, Arnulf as central figure and the younger three flanking him. Leslie surveyed them and decided whimsically that Christian was by far the most attractive of them all, grinning at herself.

Arnulf cleared his throat under the male announcer's hasty introduction, and Leslie watched the king in a somewhat stony silence. She couldn't help being biased against the man; he was the whole reason she and Christian were still apart. "I thank you all for your attention today. We are most appreciative of your good wishes." His heavy _jordisk_ accent rendered "appreciative" into five syllables, with the emphasis on the second A which he pronounced to rhyme with "say". "My brother, Carl Johan, father of the groom."

Crown Prince Carl Johan took Arnulf's place at the podium and said in a surprisingly warm voice, "My son Gerhard has found his greatest happiness here today, married to the woman he loves." Leslie could see Christian at the extreme right edge of the screen; she saw his expression frost over while Carl Johan spoke, and bit her lip, knowing exactly why. "Liselotta is a lovely girl and a worthy addition to the family. Thank you all."

Leslie felt the impending wrench of virtual separation as the king and his siblings began to turn away, and swallowed so hard she almost didn't hear a reporter's voice yelling frantically, "Prince Christian! Prince Christian, would you be willing to speak?"

Arnulf, Carl Johan, Anna-Laura and Christian all stopped short; the former three stared at their younger brother, who was searching the crowd for the source of the voice. Arnulf's disapproving expression bespoke his loss of public control; Carl Johan and Anna-Laura merely seemed puzzled. After a moment Carl Johan moved to Christian's side and muttered something in his ear; Christian shook his head, just as the voice called out again. "Prince Christian, will you comment on your marriage?"

Christian's eyes widened and he shook his head again, sweeping his hand through the air in a disgusted, dismissive wave and turning to follow his brothers and sister. Leslie groaned. "You vulture," she muttered at the screen. "Leave him alone."

Then, under frenetic commentary from the two announcers, Anna-Laura dropped back and stopped Christian while their brothers moved on ahead, speaking to him at some length and with a curiously urgent expression on her face. Christian gave her an incredulous look, and she nodded firmly. He quirked a corner of his mouth with clear annoyance, took her arm and brought her to the podium with him. Leslie leaned forward again, wondering what on earth was going on.

"Why didn't Princess Marina attend the wedding?" the same reporter shouted even before Christian and his sister had reached the podium. Anna-Laura glanced anxiously over her shoulder, perhaps to be sure Arnulf and Carl Johan were still retreating.

Christian visibly heaved a sigh before straightening to his full six-feet-three and taking his place behind the podium. "Marina's father is ill, and she's gone to Italy to tend to him," he said curtly. Despite his tone, Leslie thrilled to the sound of his voice.

"Is she expected back in time for Princess Cecilia's wedding?" came the query.

"I don't know," said Christian. "Is there a point to these questions?"

The still-unseen reporter pounced on this. "Then, if Princess Marina won't be there, perhaps your girlfriend will accompany you?"

Leslie froze, her stomach doing a somersaulting nosedive. Christian stilled as well, staring speechlessly across the lingering spectators. Anna-Laura frowned and appeared to nudge him. Giving his head a slight shake, he remarked, _"That_ was audacious, and you must be insane not to know the answer to that already." He reached up to fiddle with the rose stuck in his second buttonhole. "We really must leave…I won't answer any further questions." With that, he turned away and strode with purpose in the direction his brothers had gone; Anna-Laura hastened after him. Leslie watched him retreat till he walked out of the picture.

"Well," said the female commentator, her voice colored by a startled laugh, "the mystery surrounding Prince Christian's secret lady love deepens. Bob, let's replay that." The scene shifted to the newly-taped grilling Christian had gone through: his terse replies, his obviously exasperated look, his nervous fidgeting with the rose in his buttonhole… "I have to say, this is one of the most intriguing real-life fairy-tale mysteries I've ever witnessed. A handsome prince, trapped in an arranged marriage, refusing to reveal the identity of his true love. And even now, in the face of direct questioning, he continues to protect her."

Leslie went stock-still then and gasped. _The rose in his buttonhole?_ All at once her eyes filled with tears and overflowed. Just as Christian had promised, he'd found a way to send her a private greeting. It was so subtle, no one who didn't know either Leslie or Christian could possibly figure it out—especially the media! Beginning to laugh softly through her tears, she stopped the tape, turned off the television and went to bed, her heart light for the first time in weeks.


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § -- October 29, 2000

Roarke looked tired at breakfast—very unusual for him, and Leslie stared at him worriedly as they ate. When he finally noticed her scrutiny, he got a wry, knowing look about him. "Yes, Leslie, I dreamed again," he said.

"The same dream?" she asked.

He nodded, closing his eyes for a moment as if to replay whatever he recalled from the previous night. "Things were slightly clearer, but I am still no closer to finding an answer," he said. "Although…" He hesitated, gaze out of focus, casting about in his mind while she watched. "This time I had the sense that someone was calling to me."

"Do you know who it was?" Leslie asked.

"That, I have yet to discover. As a matter of fact, I will need to be away from the house for an hour or so: I still have the sense that I am being summoned. I anticipate no problems," Roarke concluded, already rising, "but if you do encounter anything, by all means let me know when I return."

She nodded and watched him go, then finished the last of her own breakfast and went back into the study, where she hopefully checked her e-mail, not knowing what kind of schedule Christian had had after leaving the wedding reception with his siblings. She tossed an absent glance at the grandfather clock; it was well into the night on Lilla Jordsö, but not so late that Christian might not still be awake. She was happy to find a reply to her last missive from the previous evening.

_Hello, my Leslie Rose!_

_I seem to have survived Gerhard and Liselotta's wedding, although as I'm sure you saw, I almost didn't get away from the media hounds. I'm afraid I wasn't in the best of moods just then, and having that reporter shout at me didn't help, especially with Arnulf's censorious eyes on me. Well, they can try, but they will never learn your name. And I'm certain my little "greeting" to you went utterly unnoticed! It was the only thing I could think of that wouldn't bring Arnulf's wrath down on me: plucking a rose from the bouquet on the table where I sat for the formal luncheon and tucking it into my buttonhole, then tugging at it while that reporter was prying. I suppose I should be grateful to my sister for insisting that I say something then and there in order to prevent an all-day grilling. We spent the afternoon in the city meeting people, and of course all the journalists followed us there. Don't worry, it wasn't on television. Even if it had been, you really wouldn't have missed anything._

_To answer your question: no, no one other than certain family members knows your identity. Other than Marina and Anna-Kristina, Arnulf knows...or at least he knew when I first learned he'd married me to Marina, though it's possible he's forgotten your name by now and is aware merely that I'm in love with someone else. And I suspect Anna-Kristina may have told her sisters, but no one else has any idea. I hope that puts your mind at ease. Not only that, you're right about my reasons for seeing to it that your identity remains secret. Too much of my life is under my brother's control as it is, and I simply refuse to have him hand down an edict that I'll never be allowed to see you again. It would kill me, my darling, perhaps literally._

_You actually videotaped the whole silly farce, just because you knew you were going to see me? It gave me quite a laugh to read that. Did I do anything that I'll be embarrassed about in the future? Ha ha...I think...!_

_I love you, my precious Leslie Rose, always._

_Yours forever, Christian_

Leslie giggled and pulled up a reply, with a question in mind for him.

_Christian, my love,_

_You should still be up, it's only about 9:30. You must be exhausted from everything that happened yesterday. How late do you think you can stay awake? Father is out for an hour or so and I'm just keeping an eye on things, so I have a little free time to send messages back and forth._

_Yes, silly, I videotaped the whole thing solely because of you. Let's face it, I haven't seen you since last spring, and I'm suffering from withdrawal. I just sat there and looked at you every time you appeared on the screen...you might as well have been the only person there whenever you were in the camera's sights. I was delighted when you were clearly visible all the way through the ceremony and the exchange of vows. Though I confess to wondering, what was that look at the camera at one point and that strange little smile? What was going through your mind then, I wonder?_

_We have quite an unusual fantasy this weekend and I have a feeling something really big is going to happen. It's been giving Father dreams that he can't yet figure out, and he said at breakfast that he feels as if someone's calling him. Presumably that's where he went, although I can only hope that whoever's doing the calling isn't some sinister entity out to do him in. I should be able to tell you more tomorrow, when everything's been resolved in one direction or the other. (Though I don't have a clue how this can possibly be resolved, but that's for later.)_

_I'll be waiting for a reply. I love you!_

_Always, Leslie_

She sent the message and checked out a few others, getting involved in a reply to an unexpected e-mail from Frida. Leslie was now the only one in their circle who heard from her anymore, and that was increasingly rare; the content of this missive dealt with the wedding, which it turned out Frida had also watched. Leslie had to laugh when Frida confessed that she wasn't clear on the exact nature of her kinship to Liselotta and had had to ask her mother, who didn't know either!

Once she had sent her reply to Frida, she noticed that Christian had had enough time to compose and send a response. She clicked on it immediately and found herself laughing in several places as she read it.

_Leslie, my darling, you're simply priceless! I hope you don't force me to sit down and watch that damned tape one day, nor the one I know you're going to make of me in Cecilia's wedding (ha, ha). But if it makes you happy, who am I to argue?_

_All right, all right, I'll stop teasing you. I had to think back a little before I realized what you were referring to, when you mentioned my glance at the camera. When I came into the church and reached the altar, I immediately spotted the camera positioned so that it could look directly down the aisle, all the way to the entrance. I thought it was there to follow the bridal procession before the actual ceremony started, and when Gerhard came in I made some jokes about it. I even pointed out the cameras mounted on the ceiling, and he made some remarks I probably shouldn't repeat here. It's lucky that most of the attending media didn't understand jordiska!!_

_Anyway, once the minister began to perform his role, I suddenly saw that camera begin to move around, none too slowly. I was supposed to be concentrating on Gerhard and Liselotta, but my mind wandered all over the place. Mostly I was thinking of you, but then I came back to the moment and realized that camera was now positioned so that it could put me very plainly in the shot. I gave it that look and that smile you mentioned, thinking, "of course, the notorious one in the Enstad family must be on camera so the commentators can speculate." I thought about trying to smile and wave and silly things of that sort, but Arnulf would have had my head later on. Literally, I suspect, on a silver platter, and then mounted on a wall somewhere in that godforsaken castle. Saints preserve us._

_I can't wait to hear about this fantasy you're dropping such vague hints about. I hope Mr. Roarke will come through it unharmed and that it will have a happy ending. Can't you even tell me the basic wish of whoever it is he's granting the thing to?_

_I am tired, yes, but I'll stay up till you have to go about the day's business. I love you, as ever._

_Love, Christian_

Leslie enjoyed herself for the next forty minutes or so, carrying on an electronic conversation with Christian and tempted to ask him to call her. But when Roarke returned as promised, she knew she would have to sign off; Christian needed to get some sleep in any case. She bade him farewell and sent the last message, then logged out.

Only then did she get a good look at Roarke—and what she saw made her draw in a sharp breath and slowly rise from the chair at the computer desk. He stood just at the foot of the foyer steps, staring out the window, his eyes wide with what could only be called wonder. She approached him almost cautiously, as if afraid to disturb his reverie; but her movements caught his attention and he turned to her with a smile and a light in his eyes.

"Tell me what happened!" she begged.

"Nothing less than a miracle," Roarke said softly. _"El milagro de abuelo."_

Leslie stared at him; most of her high-school Spanish had long since deserted her, but some words clung to the back of her brain, and that last was one of them. "Grandfather?" she said, mystified. "You don't mean…_yours?"_

To her great astonishment, Roarke nodded, his smile filling with the joy of discovery. "It is he who was calling me, child, and he whom I was calling in those dreams last night. You see, when I was quite young—not yet two years old—my grandfather was taken away by a UFO, exactly like the one Kyle Satterfield described as having come for his father. The memory is so old that I am amazed I can even call it back now. I was so young I didn't understand—I could only ask where he was going, and I tried to run after him. My mother held me back, and we were all forced to watch his disappearance. From that day to this, no one ever knew why. And then I was summoned…" He glanced at her wide-eyed, mesmerized look and cradled her face in his hands. "I want you to be there this evening when I bring Kyle Satterfield's fantasy to a conclusion. That, I believe, is when all of us will get the answers we have been looking for."


	7. Chapter 7

§ § § -- October 29, 2000

Roarke and Leslie stood in the study, watching five adults pacing the floor: the son and daughter of the newlywed husband, the two daughters and one son of the newlywed wife, all making heated accusations and accusing each other of ever more fantastical things. They waited with steadily decreasing patience while the tirade escalated on both sides; as usual, Leslie's ran out first, but she had managed to learn enough self-control over the years to keep her mouth shut and just watch with a cold glare. Roarke eventually reached his own limit, lifted his hands as a signal, and found himself ignored altogether. Twice he said, "Excuse me…" without being heard. Leslie glanced at him, and he gave her a wry look, extended a hand at her in a grudging _very well, go ahead_ gesture, and braced himself.

Leslie, given permission, expended some of her rising annoyance with their guests in a loud _"SHUT UP!!"_ Her yell effectively cut through the noisy argument, and everyone stopped in their tracks and stared at her, whereupon Roarke took over.

"I apologize for resorting to extreme measures, but my voice is not up to the volume that was required here, and I found it necessary to bring this debacle-in-the-making to a halt. I fail to see precisely why you loathe one another with such energy. Do you suspect your respective stepparents of trickery, or deceit, or duplicity? Are you merely resentful that they have found such happiness in their love for one another?" He paused when the wife's son spun on one heel and glared.

"I thought you already knew everything, Mr. Roarke," he said sarcastically. "Didn't my mother tell you that their father was her boss and she was his secretary? His kids think they're too good for the likes of us—they were born rich, and they're a pair of incredible snobs. They look down on my mother and think she's gold-digging trash."

The husband's daughter groaned aloud. "Why can't he listen to reason? They're all snobs in reverse, Mr. Roarke. They look at us as snooty high society, and they decided to view our initial friendly overtures as humoring the little people. They don't want our father to be happy. We think our stepmother's the salt of the earth, but her kids have such chips on their shoulders that it looks like they all have second and third heads! They take everything we say as some sort of veiled insult, and we can't even breathe in their direction without them looking at us as if they'd like us dead."

"That isn't true," protested one of the wife's daughters.

"Neither is what your brother said," the husband's son snapped.

"Excuse me," Roarke said for the third time, succeeding for once in regaining their attention. "I believe we have finally managed to get to the root of the problem: each side is clearly suffering from incorrect conclusions about the other. Is it truly so difficult to resolve your differences of opinion for the sake of your parents? Do you find it such a trial to sit down and listen to one another? Perhaps if each side gave the other a chance to speak and to explain its point of view, you might be able to refute whatever items you take exception to, and you can clear the air and finally learn to get along."

The five stepsiblings looked at one another as if they had never heard of such a novel thing. The wary silence stretched out for long enough that Leslie asked, with just the merest sardonic trace, "Do you want your parents to go through with their divorce, then?"

That got her shocked looks from everyone; even Roarke gave her a startled look, and she addressed her comments to him. "While you were at the Satterfields' bungalow after lunch, Mr. and Mrs. Weatherford came over here and said they were so discouraged by their children's mutual hatred that they figured they'd better file for divorce as soon as they got back to D.C., so that the barrage of threats and insults and accusations would finally stop and they could have some peace in their lives. I haven't seen anything that sad in a long time. Imagine contemplating divorce because your kids would rather hate each other than sit down and talk things over rationally!"

"Wait a minute," protested the husband's son. "That wasn't what we wanted!"

"Then what was?" Roarke asked logically. The question met with a startled silence as all five were brought up short for a good answer. "If I were you, I would find your parents—preferably as one group—and ask them to mediate while each side tells its story. I think all of you together should solve this, as a united family. Not only that, but I think that the sooner you do so, the better, before you cause more unhappiness than you already have."

"In that case, we're going now," said one of the wife's daughters, and her brother and sister nodded. The husband's children, not to be outdone, quickly chimed in; everyone murmured thanks at Roarke and Leslie and filed out of the house, just like that.

"Geeeeeeez," Leslie groaned when they were gone.

Roarke laughed. "Unorthodox, perhaps, but effective. We have approximately two hours before we collect the Satterfields and repair to the beach for the conclusion of their fantasy; so if you would, please make a run to the hotel and notify the Llewellyn family, from Cardiff, Wales, that they should meet us here at the main house about ten minutes before we leave."

"Why?" asked Leslie. "What do they have to do with it?"

"Kyle admitted this afternoon that he had finally met a pair of young people who believed his story—particularly the girl. It's certainly no hardship to grant an extra fantasy this weekend, especially as it falls right in with another." He smiled; Leslie grinned back, grabbed a car key and left.

And that was how they all found themselves standing on a beach under countless thousands of stars, shortly past seven o'clock that evening. Ioan and Gwyneth Llewellyn had accompanied Gavin and Rhian; Bonnie was there with Kyle and a loudly skeptical Zachary; and Roarke and Leslie were in the middle of the lot. Roarke watched the sky; Leslie divided her attention between the heavens and the nervous interplay going on among their guests.

"Did you eat anything, Kyle?" Rhian Llewellyn asked.

"I tried, but I was too excited," Kyle said. "I mean, Mr. Roarke said something's going to happen here, and ever since then my stomach's been full of rocks."

"It's not your stomach that's full of rocks, it's your head," said Zachary.

"Shut up, you retard," Kyle said, annoyed.

"Boys, please," Bonnie Satterfield entreated with a loud groan. "Just once, I wish I could say that my sons actually got along with each other for an entire day. Is that asking so much, to have a little peace and harmony between you two?"

Gwyneth Llewellyn laughed softly. "That's how siblings are," she observed. "I don't think they ever learn to appreciate each other before they're grown and gone."

"Oh, Lord," Bonnie moaned. "Kyle's sixteen. Two more years before he heads off to college and he and Zachary can't snipe at each other every second." The adults, save for Roarke, all laughed, quietly and a little apprehensively. Leslie took in her father's steady scrutiny of the stars and wondered exactly what he expected they would see.

"What do you think we're going to see?" Gavin wondered idly.

"It's almost Halloween," Zachary pointed out. "Maybe we'll see some native kids dressed up in green alien suits so Kyle can have his fantasy."

"That's it," Kyle growled. "You're dead meat, Zachary Jason Satterfield."

Rhian sighed. "Oh, ye of little faith!"

Zachary stared at her. "You mean you believe in flying saucers too? Holy crud, you and Kyle are perfect for each other. You can spend all your nights together staring at the sky and waiting for aliens in big shiny spaceships…"

At that point Roarke turned and said softly, "Zachary, why do you mock me?"

Zachary threw him a stunned look. "I'm not making fun of you, Mr. Roarke," he said.

"Aren't you?" Roarke parried, the faintest thread of amusement in his voice. "I am even more certain than your brother that we will see a UFO this night. I can only conclude that you think I am as much of a…shall we say 'crackpot'?…as Kyle is to you."

Zachary floundered, "Well, I wasn't gonna…I mean, it's not like I was…"

A shadow blocked out every star within their sight, silencing all of them. All eyes instantly went up, and as if cued, the entire group was promptly bathed in blinking multicolored lights—blue, green, pink, yellow, lavender. And then they were all surrounded by an incorporeal, glittering snowstorm. Kyle let out an inarticulate holler of excitement and shouted, "It's them! It's gotta be them! This is just like I saw it the night they took Dad!"

"It's beautiful!" cried Rhian in delight, reaching out to try to touch the glitter that surrounded them. Leslie followed her lead, entranced, surprised to find that she swept her hand through ordinary thin air. Their "snowstorm" was apparently a three-dimensional optical illusion of some sort; it made her giggle aloud with excitement transferred from Kyle and Rhian. She caught a movement and saw Roarke watching her with a smile.

"My God," Bonnie said, sounding dazed. "He was right all along."

"No way," Zachary insisted, but with far less conviction now. When the spotlight popped into being right in the middle of the silver glitter that filled the air, he let out a squawk and leaped back at least two feet, nearly bowling Gavin over.

A human figure faded into being directly in the beam of light while they all stared, stilled by sheer astonishment. _"You are back,"_ said a quiet basso-profundo voice.

"Dad!" Kyle roared jubilantly.

"Eric?!" Bonnie shrieked, arms outstretched, stumbling forward on Kyle's heels.

Eric Satterfield stepped hesitantly out of the beam and towards his approaching wife and son, a look of utter wonder on his features. "They really meant it," he exclaimed in a dazed voice. "They really meant it when they said they were coming back."

"Dad, are you sure that's you?" Zachary demanded, lagging some paces behind his mother and older brother. "They didn't turn you into some creepy body-snatcher thing, did they? You're not really an alien in my dad's body, are you?"

Eric burst out laughing. "Is this the same kid who was going to Mars back in first grade so he could ask the Martians why they invaded Earth in 'War of the Worlds'? What turned you into the supreme cynic, Zack?" Zachary stopped in surprise for a long moment, then grinned sheepishly.

"I told them this thing picked you up, Dad," Kyle said. "I saw it all happen."

"No kidding," Eric said. "You must have had everybody in the state laughing at you. When they took me, I didn't know how to tell them I had a family waiting for me. It was years before I learned enough of their language to explain that to them, but they were across the galaxy by then, and I had to wait till their travels brought me back here." He turned to his wife and reached out, pulling her into a fierce embrace that made Leslie's eyes fill with tears. "Bonnie, honey…baby, it's so good to see you again."

"Don't go back," Bonnie pleaded tearfully, clinging to him. "Don't let them take you back. Make them understand we need you."

"_Fear not, Bonnie Satterfield,"_ said the basso-profundo voice. _"We deeply regret our mistake. Communication was difficult for a great deal of time, and it was only with the help of our emissary that we at last bridged the gap. We must needs find a new recruit to replace the emissary, but we shall have a care this time for whom we choose. We return Eric Satterfield to his family."_

"Who's 'the emissary'?" Gavin asked aloud.

"An older man," Eric said. "Very distinguished-looking. Part of the delay was that he didn't speak English, and we had to build a vocabulary before we could understand each other. He was taken from his family too, but they needed someone badly, and they couldn't be as choosy as they can now, with the population so much smaller…"

"This is incredible," said Ioan Llewellyn. "Never thought Gwyn and I'd live to see the day when Rhian's friends from outer space would finally heed her wishes and pay a visit. I expect you've some fabulous stories to tell, Mr. Satterfield. I'm Ioan Llewellyn—here from Wales with my family. My wife Gwyn, son Gavin and daughter Rhian…who seems to have something in common with your Kyle."

Eric and Ioan shook hands, and Kyle and Rhian grinned at each other. Gavin, Gwyn and Bonnie looked on, Bonnie from the shelter of Eric's hug, and even Zachary looked as if he had been convinced at last. "So does that mean these alien guys are gonna go pick up somebody else?" he wanted to know. "You're coming home, right, Dad?"

"Weren't you listening, dumbo?" Kyle asked, but with affection rather than annoyance. "The voice said they're returning him to us. They need another emissary. I guess they have to train one."

Eric nodded. "They knew where to take us. Apparently the emissary made contact with someone he left behind. Man, does it ever feel good to be back on Earth again."

Amid the celebrations of the Satterfield and Llewellyn families, Leslie saw a movement in her peripheral vision and let her attention be drawn to Roarke, who stood apart from the rest of the group, surrounded by drifting silver glitter, his face turned upward. His dark eyes searched the apparition over their heads, his expression almost childlike in its wonder, tinged with hope. _"Abuelo,"_ he breathed, so softly she barely heard.

Leslie felt a hot-and-cold tidal wave crash through her, and she goggled at him as he stood there unaware of everything around him. It was Roarke who'd been contacted, and that meant the emissary had to be…

Roarke must have sensed something, for he turned and saw her dumbstruck look. He extended a hand towards her, beckoning silently, and as if drawn, she went to him and let him gather her close. He returned his gaze to the myriad blinking lights above them and said, just above a whisper, _"Mi hija está aquí…" My daughter is here…_

Leslie waited, but she heard nothing; she realized then that she hadn't heard anything the entire time, in fact, except for the ocean washing endlessly onshore. But she saw Roarke smile, slowly, wonderingly, and his eyes lit with sheer joy. Somehow he'd gotten some sort of message, and she wished she could hear it too. She watched Roarke intently, till he sensed her scrutiny and turned to her. "Is something wrong?"

"Why can't I meet him?" she asked wistfully.

Roarke smiled and looked, perhaps inexorably, back up. "It's all right," he said gently. "He knows who you are and what you mean to me, and he is happy. And the time has come to take their leave…" His voice dropped back to a whisper. _"Adiós, abuelo."_

There was a pause; Roarke's expression changed again, subtly, as though he had received a reply. The spotlight went out, the glitter vanished, the lights darkened, and the shadow simply disappeared, leaving a sparkling carpet of stars far above.

"Whoa," Zachary Satterfield burst out in an overwhelmed voice.

"That's the word, all right," his father said through a laugh.

Roarke stepped around Leslie and regarded the group before remarking, "I have no doubt that you and your wife and sons have five years of catching up to do, and equally little doubt that you'll want to begin immediately. Shall we return?"

"Best offer I've had in half a decade," said Eric Satterfield, giving his wife another hug and resting his head against hers for a moment.

§ § § -- October 30, 2000

"It's not possible to thank you enough for everything you did," Eric said solemnly to Roarke the next morning, clasping his hand. "The words just don't exist."

"You need not worry about that," Roarke said. "Just seeing your family and you reunited has been enough thanks. In any case, it was ultimately not my decision. I was merely the contact who helped to make it possible."

"You think maybe anyone'll believe my story now?" Kyle asked. "I mean, other than Rhian." He grinned. "Thanks to this fantasy, I've got new friends, and maybe now people will give me some credit for intelligence."

Zachary snorted, "No way, dude. I mean, I actually saw the whole thing, and I _still_ don't believe it." Everyone burst out laughing, shook hands and made their farewells; and Roarke and Leslie watched the Satterfields head for the plane dock.

"They'll never know what you had to sacrifice in order to get them back together," Leslie observed, returning their guests' waves.

Roarke gave her a look askance. "Sacrifice? What was I sacrificing?"

"Getting your grandfather back," she said.

"Ah, my dear Leslie, there was nothing to sacrifice," Roarke said. "He could not return even if he so wished. It simply wasn't possible, and both he and I knew it. No, it was a chance for me to say a proper goodbye, to have a real dialogue with him for the one and only time in my life. I could barely speak when he was taken, so I regard my conversation with him as a great and rare gift."

Leslie slowly shook her head. "You never cease to amaze me," she said.

"The universe is an amazing place," Roarke returned, and he let his gaze drift skyward, a faint smile crossing his features.

**THE END (for now…)**


End file.
